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“Maybe,” Sam said. “Hard to say until we ask the man some questions, but I’d really appreciate it if you were able to find his name.”
“I’ll look in my old journals,” she promised, then stood. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get ready for work.”
Sam and Laura rose and headed for the door. “One more question,” Sam said as they walked. “You said he got the job in the mail room right away. Did he look for another IT job?”
Because he’d wondered about that. IT professional to the mail room was quite a downgrade.
“Not that I remember. I figured that he’d burned so many bridges by then that he didn’t even try. I remember being surprised that he took the mail room job because he was always saying that it was beneath him. I asked him why and he said it had its perks. That was before his therapist dumped him. I asked him again when he complained about the pay cut and he smacked me into a wall. That was after therapy ended.”
Sam held out his hand. “Thank you. I hope things get easier for you.”
Rayna smiled as she shook his hand. “I think they will. One good thing came of this. Brian—the old buddy of Colton’s—offered me a job today, working for his legal firm. I’m giving my two weeks’ notice tonight.”
Oh? Sam’s warning bells went off. Who was this Brian guy who just happened to be there when Colton’s ex-wives needed him? They needed to check him out to make sure he was legit. Rayna had been through enough.
“That’s wonderful,” Laura said, then gave the woman her card. “But if it doesn’t work out for any reason, call me. I might be able to help.”
Rayna took the card, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you. After so long on my own, it’s so nice to have support.”
They said their goodbyes, then walked to Laura’s car, not speaking until they were inside.
“We should check Brian out,” Laura said. “I don’t like how convenient this was.”
“Same,” Sam said grimly, then checked his phone for the time. “But I’d like to visit the family of Rochelle Hamilton first.”
“The girl you found in the runaway clearinghouse?”
“Yes. She disappeared five years ago.”
“Which would have been right about the time that Colton lost his job and threatened his therapist,” she noted.
Sam did the mental math based on the date from Rayna’s marriage license. “You’re right. But his partner—and maybe Colton, because who knows now?—was killing long before that. Joel told me that the first victim was found fifteen years ago. I figure I’ll work my way backward.”
“Then to the Hamilton house we go.” Laura started to pull out of her parking place, then stopped. “Got a text. Rayna found that therapist’s name.” She passed Sam her phone.
The young woman texted that she’d been so appreciative of their kindness that she’d immediately searched for the journal, finding it faster than she’d thought.
Sam cut and pasted the man’s name into Google, finding that he had an office in the city.
But before he could click on the phone number, a video thumbnail caught his eye. The therapist had been interviewed, the Broadway show posters in the background behind him frozen in the frame.
Sam knew this room. He’d seen it today. Right before he’d thrown up.
Holy shit.
“Sam?” Laura asked, sounding worried. “What’s wrong?”
His heart raced as he stared at his screen. “I have to call Kit.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Little Italy, San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 20, 4:00 p.m.
Kit paused outside the third bar on her list when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Connor’s name flashed on her screen.
“Hey,” she said, stepping away from the bar’s front door. “What d’ya got?”
